


In the Offhand Remarks

by Raphiael



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/F, Post-Fire Emblem Fates: Birthright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raphiael/pseuds/Raphiael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Birthright. Beruka finds Camilla, trying to make a new life, and tries to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Offhand Remarks

**Author's Note:**

> for FE Femslash Week, day 2, prompt: endings! I'm glad this is a thing. I wanted to sort of drift around the main subject here, and choosing Beruka's POV was a weird approach but I wanted to post this for the actual day. I might work this into a longer, beefier piece? (but how many "failures to communicate + letter-writing sequences" can I actually contribute to this series before I get kicked out)
> 
> in case it wasn't evident: spoilers for Birthright

"Go home, Beruka."  
Beruka doesn't have a home. She knows Lady Camilla remembers this. She can sleep anywhere, eat whatever she can get her hands on. That's not the problem.  
The problem is that she's come too far now to turn back. The orphanage is deep in the mountains, a difficult journey even on wyvern. And finding it hadn't been easy, either. Beruka had never minded being alone, but setting out to find Camilla when Selena was gone without a trace, knowing that no one else would follow....it's strange. But Beruka has nowhere else to go.  
"No," Beruka answers.  
Camilla doesn't look her in the eye. She's fussing over one of the children, now, a scrawny thing with hungry eyes. Her hair is braided off to one side, and even without seeing all of her face, Beruka can tell she's neglected her usual powders and potions. She's never seen Lady Camilla so bare. No armor, no axe, slumped shoulders, tired eyes. In a target, she'd call it weakness.  
"Retainers are for royalty," Camilla says, finally glancing over her shoulder. She doesn't smile. "No crown, see? Go home."  
Not a retainer, then. Retainers take orders. Beruka doesn't move.  
"I can't," she says. 

\---

There are eleven orphans. Beruka can't remember their names, but they all remember hers. Camilla made sure of that. It's strange not to call her Lady anymore, but Beruka can adjust. It's harder to adjust to the children. They want to name her mount (Kitty now). She takes ... Kitty out on hunts instead of missions, peels potatoes and cuts up carrots, bargains with the merchants for a little bit more in exchange for a little bit less, all for these children Camilla adores. But Beruka has always been versatile.  
Camilla never asks about anything in Windmire. Not a word for Selena, nothing for Leo, and certainly nothing for Corrin.  
"I'm happy here," Camilla insists as she braids a child's hair to look just like her own. "This is home for me now."  
It's not quite a lie, but not quite the truth. Beruka studies the careful braidwork and stays silent.

\---

Beruka starts to take well to the country. Everyone in the village knows her face, if not her name: it's startling at first, but slowly, begins to feel almost safe. No one cares enough to come for them at night. The worst the children suffer are bruises and scrapes. Never an empty bowl or a cold night spent alone. Camilla won't even let them see the rabbits before they're in the stew.  
"Innocent eyes," she reminds Beruka so often.  
They've never seen Camilla swing an axe in the fury of battle, or heard her laugh as she used to at enemies in flight. Beruka never understood it, doesn't know if she misses it. It's as if she served another person, once.

\---

"Miss Camilla, what's the city like?" the children ask sometimes, and Camilla speaks of soaring towers and endless caverns, glittering storefronts below the ground and travelers from every reach of Nohr. She leaves out everything Beruka remembers. It's all equally imaginary to the children, after all, but Camilla changes the subject, dancing as ever away from kings and castles.  
"Nothing I miss is there anymore," she says later, as if it explains it all. It's the sort of lie Beruka recognizes: meant to be left alone, like a new scab.

\---

Beruka loses track of the days. The children don't celebrate birthdays, but Beruka can tell an anniversary by the way Camilla locks herself away. Just one day a year, for when everything seemed to come apart at once.  
The third time, Beruka is ready. She waits in the darkness, like waiting for a kill. It makes her sick, how easy it is. Anyone could kill Camilla if they wanted to. For Beruka, it's a given, but like this, it's awful. She can't say why.  
It's worse when Camilla cries. Beruka's seen it before, but not for years, never in front of the children, and—  
Don't cry would be wrong. Beruka doesn't know what's right. She lets Camilla hold her and ramble: _Tasha's older this year than Elise was, and I, I just—_  
Beruka can't remember how old Elise was. She remembers all the ways she thought Elise might die: poisoned sweets, an assassination on her little day trips, a fall from a horse, a knife in the night. Nothing more.  
"I'm sorry," she says, because she thinks that's what she's meant to say. Once, she thinks, Camilla might have vowed vengeance. But who is there left, now, to blame?  
Beruka waits, and thinks.  
"You could," she says carefully, "write letters?"

\---

It's months before a letter arrives, delivered by a village boy who stares at Camilla the way men always seem to. Beruka doesn't understand why it makes her chest tighten, her fists clench.  
Camilla never says what's in it, but another envelope goes out later that week, and begins a cycle Beruka can mostly follow. And slowly, things begin to change.  
The children ooh and ahh the first time Camilla wears her hair like she used to. Beruka finds she missed it; the braid was practical, but this feels right.  
Camilla hums while she cooks, swings her hips a bit, as if anyone but Beruka and the children could see her. Or maybe, Beruka thinks, it is a little for her. She doesn't have a word for this.  
But when she goes to the village for flour and eggs, she spots something else: a little pot of something shimmery. The shopkeeper says it's for her eyes, and Beruka can't help but think of her mistress in the morning, carefully painting her face before riding into battle. Beruka never saw the point. She doesn't now. She buys the pot and brings it home, and Camilla smiles.  
"I missed this," Camilla says. "I did."


End file.
